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LXXXI. Speed thou the work, Redeemer of the world! That the long miseries of mankind may cease : Where'er the Red Cross banner is unfurled There let it carry truth, and light, and peace! Did not the Angels who announced thy birth, Proclaim it with the sound of Peace on Earth?

Lxxxii. Bless thou this happy Island, that the stream Of blessing far and wide from hence may slow : Bless it that so thy saving Mercy's beam Reflected hence may shine on all below: Thy ki NG dom come ! Thy will be doNE, O Lokol AND Be Thy Holy NAME through All the world Adoked LXXXIII. Thus as Speranza cried she clasped her hands, And heavenward lifted them in ardent prayer. Lo! at the act the vaulted roof expands,Heaven opens,—and in empyreal air Pouring its splendours through the inferior sky, More bright than noon-day suns the Caoss appears on high. LXXXIV. A strain of heavenly harmony ensued, Such as but once to mortal ears was known, The voice of that Angelic Multitude Who in their Orders stand around the Throne; Peace Upon EAarh, Good will to Men! they sung, And Heaven and Earth with that prophetic anthem rung. LXXXV. In holy fear I fell upon the ground, And hid my face, unable to endure The glory, or sustain the piercing sound : In fear and yet in trembling joy, for sure My soul that hour yearned strongly to be free, That it might spread its wings in immortality.

LXXXVI. Gone was the glory when I raised my head, But in the air appeared a form half-seen, Below with shadows dimly garmented, And indistinct and dreadful was his mien : Yet when I gazed intentlier, I could trace Divinest beauty in that awful face.

LXXXVII. Hear me, O Princess! said the shadowy form, As in administering this mighty land Thou with thy best endeavour shalt perform The will of Heaven, so shall my faithful hand Thy great and endless recompense supply;My name is DEATH : the last best faiend AM I'

EPILOGUE.

i. Is this the Nuptial Song? with brow severe Perchance the votaries of the world will say : Are these fit strains for Royal ears to hear? What man is he who thus assorts his lay, And dares pronounce with inauspicious breath, In Hymeneal verse, the name of Death!

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The first part of this Poem describes a journey to the scene of war. The second is in an allegorical form; it exposes the gross material philosophy which has been the guiding principle of the French politicians, from Mirabeau to Buonaparte; and it states the opinions of those persons who lament the restoration of the Bourbons, because the hopes which they entertained from the French Revolution have not been realized ; and of those who see only evil, or blind chance, in the course of luman events. To the Christian philosopher all things are consistent and clear. Our first parents brought with them the light of natural religion and the moral law as men departed from these, they tended toward barbarous and savage life; large portions of the world are in this degenerated state; still, upon the great scale, the human race, from the beginning, has been progressive. But the direct object of Buonaparte was to establish a military despotism wherever his power extended; and the immediate and inevitable consequence of such a system is to brutalize and degrade mankind. The contest in which this country was engaged against that Tyrant, was a struggle between good and evil principles, and never was there a victory so important to the best hopes of human nature as that which was won by British valour at Waterloo, its effects extending over the whole civilized world, and involving the vital interests of all mankind. That victory leaves England in security and peace. In no age and in no country has man ever existed under circumstances so favourable to the full development of his moral and intellectual faculties, as in England at this time. The peace which she has won by the battle of Waterloo, leaves her at leisure to pursue the great objects and duties of bettering her own condition, and diffusing the blessings of civilization and Christianity.

BY ROBERT SOUTHEY.

PROEM.

I. Once more I see thee, Skiddaw! once again Behold thee in thy majesty serene, Where like the bulwark of this favoured plain, Alone thou standest, monarch of the scene— Thou glorious Mountain, on whose ample breast The sunbeams love to play, the vapours love to rest!

11. Once more, O Derwent, to thy awful shores I come, insatiate of the accustomed sight; And listening as the eternal torrent roars, Drink in with eye and ear a fresh delight: For I have wandered far by land and sea, In all my wanderings still remembering thee.

III. Twelve years, (how large a part of man's brief day!) Nor idly, nor infloriously spent, of evil and of good have held their way, Since first upon thy banks 1 pitched my tent. Hither I came in manhood's active prime, And here my head hath felt the touch of time.

IV. Heaven hath with goodly increase blest me here, Where childless and opprest with grief I came; With voice of fervent thankfulness sincere Let me the blessings which are mine proclaim: ilere I possess, what more should I require? Books, children, leisure, all my heart's desire.

V.

O joyful hour, when to our longing home

The long-expected wheels at length drew nigh! When the first sound went forth, a they come! they

come !»

And hope's impatience quickened every eye' a Never had man whom Heaven would heap with bliss More glad return, more happy hour than this.”

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